


"What's the G stand for?"

by notjustmom



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Giveaway fic, Lestrade and Sherlock friendship, backstory for Lestrade and Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:02:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29467674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: A fic from a prompt by MelMey, who won a giveaway on tumblr, she asked for a fic about Lestrade and Sherlock's friendship. It begins in 2005, and will be multi-chapter.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade
Comments: 48
Kudos: 38





	1. 2005

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelMey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelMey/gifts).



It was one of those days. 

It seemed forever since he'd seen the sun, he had caught a cold the week before, which was slowly turning into something nastier, he was up to his eyeballs in paperwork that he never seemed to make a dent in, and now, what the hell?

"Hey. You can't be here." He attempted to yell as he pulled out a handkerchief that was long past being useful, and sneezed at it. Donovan looked up at him from their latest corpse then glared at the tall, thin man who dropped to his knees, seeming to ignore the puddle that he landed in and muttered mostly to himself, "Another one. But this one's different."

Lestrade shoved the handkerchief back in his pocket and grumbled as he shifted his umbrella to try to cover the newcomer who had invaded his crime scene, "Diff'rent how?"

The man, who on first glance seemed little more than a teenager, on closer examination, he was obviously in his late 20s, mumbled, "They tried to make it look like the others, but it's wrong -"

"Wrong? How -" Lestrade stopped speaking, handed Donovan the umbrella which wasn't doing much to keep him dry, then knelt down next to the interloper and picked up the victim's hand. "Damn. Wrong colour. All the others were wearing-"

"Night at the Opera." They said together in unison. For the first time in weeks, Lestrade almost allowed himself to smile.

"Blind date."

Lestrade studied the nails and shook his head. "No, I think it's Cherry on Top - it's more of a bluer red, and has glitter -"

The man sighed and ran his fingers impatiently through his rain-soaked curls. "No, I mean, I think you'll find that she was on a blind date, they all were."

Lestrade coughed and slowly got to his feet. "How -?"

"Every Valentine's Day for the last twelve years."

"Yeah. I'm not gonna even ask -" He paused as the younger man finally turned his head and met his gaze. Bright green eyes, seemed older than they should be, the 'kid' was definitely thinner than was good for him, and he wasn't shivering from the rain, even though the thin coat he was wearing wasn't doing him much good. "Donovan, bag 'er up, get 'er to Doc, then go home."

"But, sir -"

"We aren't gonna learn anymore from the scene, it's clearly a dump site like all the others, and one of us needs to stay healthy."

Donovan rolled her eyes, but nodded. "Yes, sir. Night, sir,' then walked over to the bus and called out instructions to the crime scene workers.

Lestrade offered the still unknown man his hand and cleared his throat, "I'm -"

"DI G Lestrade. You've been DI for five, no, almost six years now, married, but not happily, which is why you are here instead of in a fancy restaurant with your Missus on Valentine's Day. This case is one of the reasons you're not happily married -" He bit his lip and took Lestrade's hand. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, my flat is just down the street - and in case you're wondering, I didn't do it."

"Didn't say you did," Lestrade answered, and a small, but genuine smile graced his lips for a moment as he helped Sherlock Holmes to his feet, then vanished as the rain picked up again. "Damn." He and Sherlock backed up as the body was bagged, placed on a stretcher, then hurriedly put onto the bus.

"Stay home tomorrow, sir. It's a Saturday," Donovan called out.

He nodded, as he raised his hand in answer and watched as she drove away.

"I think we could both use some tea," Sherlock said at his side. "I don't have much, but I always have decent tea."

Lestrade shrugged, but followed after him, it was the best offer he'd had in years.

"What time is it?" Lestrade yawned and rubbed at his eyes. He looked around the small, unfamiliar room he found himself in, and blinked at the sunlight that was streaming in through the small window. 

"Three in the afternoon," came the answer from the depths of an overstuffed chair, which had probably been red when new, but was now a soft shade of rose.

"Hell." He yawned and realised at some point last night he had changed into a pair of the softest pajamas he had ever worn in his life. "Sorry. I don't remember-"

"You had a shower, and the only thing I had that would fit you were those - my brother sends me a pair every year for my birthday. Too big for me. Your clothes should be dry soon. You had a cup of tea, and crashed. You've had less sleep than me recently, and that's saying something."

Lestrade groaned and rubbed his eyes again, then sat up and stared at the grey walls which were covered in press clippings of many of his cases, old, current, and cold, and the yards of various shades of red string zigzagging above his head.

"What - who are you?" He asked hoarsely as he was handed a fresh steaming cup of tea, made precisely as he took it, strong with a splash of milk. He shook his head and took a sip.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, and I'm a Consulting Detective, the only one in the world, and one day I'll figure out what the 'G' stands for."


	2. 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit more angsty than my usual, but it's how it came out today.

"Gavin." Sherlock suggested as he dropped next to the body.

"Gavin?"

"No. Not Gavin." He leaned in closer, then sat back and sniffed the air. "Paint."

"Paint?"

"The walls. They've been repainted. Last day or so. They had a domestic over it."

Lestrade waited. 

"Obviously."

"Obviously."

"The room doesn't go with the walls, or the walls don't go with the room. She took care in decorating this room in particular, felt it was hers. She obsessed over each thing, took her weeks to find -" Sherlock abandoned the body and walked towards the fireplace. "She took longer picking out the doodahs and geegaws to put on her mantle than she did in selecting her 'life partner'." There was a note of derision in his voice as he looked at the man sprawled on the floor.

"So she killed him because the paint clashed with the rest of the room."

"People have killed for less, but no, I think she killed him because he made her realise they no longer cared about the same things. Neither of them are young, you can tell from the photos, they had started over. At the beginning, he was just as excited about finding each 'perfect' piece, but the longer it went on -"

"She left everything behind," Lestrade muttered to himself, as he picked up the purse that had landed on the rug when she had arrived home earlier that day. "Everything that had been so important -"

Sherlock nodded. "You won't find her. She's started over more than once, she knows how to disappear." Lestrade looked up at the change in Sherlock's voice, as if speaking from experience. "Gerald. No. Definitely not a Gerald. She's not worth it, you know." Sherlock nodded at Lestrade, and left the room, and Lestrade knew he wasn't speaking about their suspect.

"Sometimes it's easier just to stay." Lestrade said quietly at Sherlock's bedside.

"Graham?" Sherlock whispered as he slowly opened his eyes.

"Hey."

"You didn't call my brother, did you?"

"No."

"You said something."

"It's nothing."

"Something about it's 'easier just to stay'?" Sherlock sat up slowly and rubbed his face. "Two days. You followed me home."

"Yeah, I did. Almost wasn't in time though, you took a shortcut. I thought I knew London well, but not as well as you."

"I owe you an explanation."

"No. You don't."

"I do. I try not to care. I try so hard to see the cases as just puzzles, and not see the people. I see everything. Most of the time I can put them in boxes in my head and let them go, but the paint lady - I understood her. At one point, when she found that last piece of the room, she thought she had created something perfect, something true. It was her sanctuary, and she comes home one day to find it ruined. Of course she could have lived with it, continued to live with him, compromise. But she snapped. I know it's wrong, but I've had moments of perfection, and when they are gone -" he reached out a trembling hand towards Lestrade and closed his eyes as it stopped shaking when Lestrade took it in both of his hands. "I just wonder what is the point some days."

"Yeah, I know the feeling."

Sherlock opened his eyes and studied him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Course. Ask away."

"Are we friends?"

Lestrade studied the exhausted face, and the green eyes that still carried that spark he had seen on their first case, and he nodded. "Yeah, I'd like to think so. Try to go back to sleep."

"You won't -"

"I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes again, and didn't pull his hand away as he drifted off to sleep.

"Where are we going? This isn't the way to my flat."

"Yes it is."

Sherlock shot a sideways glance at him and crossed his arms.

"I don't need any help."

"I think you'll like this flat better is all, I know the landlady, and you will be polite to her," Lestrade replied as he pulled up in front of a black door with a bronze knocker slightly askew.

"Baker Street? I can't afford -"

"Landlady owes me a favor or two. Come on." 

Sherlock grumbled, but grabbed his bag, exited the sedan with as much grace as he could muster, and followed after Lestrade.

"Mrs Hudson."

"Lestrade." The landlady smiled at the DI, and offered Sherlock her hand. "You must be Sherlock, I've heard so much about you."

He began to deduce the woman in front of him silently to himself, then took the offered hand, and realised Lestrade was offering him another chance to start over. No questions asked, just a new beginning, and he wondered what it would cost him.

"Nothing," Lestrade answered quietly. "Not everything comes with a price. I'll be back when I have a case for you."


	3. 2009

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an origin story for the Belstaff...

Sherlock sighed as he lowered his violin and bow, and turned away from the window. "What is it, Lestrade?"

"Just thought I'd stop by and -"

"And what is _that?_ " He asked as he turned and pointed his bow at the box that Lestrade had placed on the coffee table. Neatly wrapped with a bright red bow, it could only mean - "You know." He rolled his eyes, replaced his violin and bow into their case, then crossed his arms, and waited.

"That it is your birthday? Yes. Don't try to deduce it, just go ahead and open it."

Sherlock stalked towards the table and circled it, as if the package were his newest case.

"It's not a bomb to disarm, it's just a present."

"I know that. It's just been a long time since anyone other than 'family' has acknowledged this date. Actually, I don't think anyone -" Sherlock bit his lip, then lifted the lid from the box, and put it aside, then unfolded the tissue paper and carefully drew out a long, dark grey wool coat, that was obviously made to order, definitely not off the rack. "You had this made for me."

"Go ahead, try it on."

"Lestrade. I -"

"Go on."

Sherlock slipped into the great coat and sighed, then shoved his hands into the deep pockets and spun across the room. "This is - I'm - I don't know what to say, Gary - no. Glenn, mmm... George?" He frowned, and pulled out a bright blue scarf from the left pocket of his coat.

"Thank you, is what most people would say, but you aren't most people." Lestrade grinned, then grumbled as his phone buzzed. "Donovan? Yeah, we'll be there in a few minutes." He hung up and cleared his throat, "Feel up to a double homicide in a locked room?"

"It truly is my birthday." He flew towards the door, and paused just long enough to shove his feet into his shoes. "C'mon, Lestrade, let's go!"

"Aren't you tired of being on your own?" Lestrade asked a few hours later after the case was wrapped up and for once he had been able to convince Sherlock to join him for an after case drink.

Sherlock nearly choked, and put his pint down. He was about to remind Lestrade of his own failures in the relationship department, but thought of the gift earlier in the day that was currently keeping him warm and the brilliant case that had nearly stumped him, definitely an eight and a half, if not a nine. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

He considered the idea for a long moment, picked up his glass again, then set it down. "Sometimes, yes. After a case, especially one like this, I wouldn't mind having someone to - I don't know, celebrate with? But come on, Lestrade, who would put up with me?"

"I do," Lestrade said with a grin.

"You're different. You need me." Lestrade rolled his eyes and waited. "Okay, yes, I need you too, after a fashion, for the cases, and yes, alright, you tolerate me to a certain extent. No. That's not fair, you actually seem to enjoy my company, and you don't ask for much in return. I suppose I serve as a younger brother - a protégé of sorts -" He sighed, drained the rest of his pint, leaned back against his seat and looked at his hands before shoving them in his pockets. "Once, I entertained the idea that I was in love, in Uni, and that ended rather horrendously, and I never wish to repeat that specific error ever again."

"Falling in love doesn't always -"

"In one way or another, relationships always end."

"Yes, that is true, but -"

"And you, of all people -"

"Yes, I should know better, but I still have hope that one day -" Lestrade looked down at his hand that until recently had worn a wedding band, then up at Sherlock who was studying him intently.

"You still believe that people are capable of decency and kindness, after everything you've seen."

"Yeah, I do. I know it's ridiculous."

"No, it's one reason I like you, Greg."

Lestrade laughed. "How long have you known?"

"Since the first case. I got a look at your ID, it fell out of your pocket that night when I was hanging up your trousers."

Lestrade laughed again and shook his head. "Another round?"

Sherlock shrugged, and saw the loneliness in Lestrade's eyes. "Why not?"

Lestrade raised two fingers at the bartender, then said, "One day, Sherlock - one day, you will meet someone who will change your mind."

"Do you honestly believe that?"

"Yeah, kid, I do. I really do. Happy Birthday, Sherlock."


End file.
